The File on Angelyn Stark (19 page)

“You’ve had three years to say it, Angelyn.”

“There never was a time. It was all about Nathan lying and Mrs. Daly being a busybody bitch. You called her that. Remember?”

“Oh,
her
. Miss High and Mighty. She knew better how to raise you.”

“We all pretended like nothing was wrong. We’ve
been
pretending. There was no other way to be. Was there?”

“All right,” Mom says. “If I’d asked then, what would you have said?”

I pull my knees up. “Whatever Danny wanted.”

“Whatever Danny wanted.” She’s quiet. “Why?”

“He was my friend. You could be scary.”
You are scary
.

“How many times—”

“All you have to know is, it happened.”

“I
said
, how many times?”

“Okay.” I turn my hands on the smooth sheets. “A baseball season’s worth. Part of spring, all summer, part of fall. Is that enough times?”

Mom makes a sound.

I look over. “Every Sunday morning.”

“I slept late on Sundays!”

Like she’s accusing me.

Deliberately, I say, “Danny would shush me so we wouldn’t wake you.”

Mom’s stare is awful.

“We’d watch TV,” I say, “and—”

“I don’t want to know,” she says.

I push the covers back. “I’m getting some water.”

“Get some for me.”

I feel better, turned from her, rummaging in the ice bucket. But in the mirror I see Mom staring.

I hand her a tumbler and take mine across the room, to the window. My backpack fills the orange vinyl chair. Next to it, I drain my glass.

“Nathan saw us,” I say. “He really did. Ask him. He wasn’t lying.”

“There’s something else you kept quiet.” She’s drunk her water too. “You’ve been in touch with that boy. For how long?”

“I sent him off a million times. Nathan hung on. He only just gave up on me.”

Mom sits against the pillows. “You’ve changed. We put this behind us.”

“No,” I say. “No, we didn’t. I think about it all the time.”

“You think about Danny?”

I sit on the window ledge. “I think about things being wrong. The lie that happens every day.”

Mom
hmm
s. “He said something about you last night.”

Despite myself, I ask what.

“Danny said—” She looks at the ceiling. “The two of you used to play like puppies, and maybe his hand slipped once, and maybe you misinterpreted—”

“Twenty-six Sundays, Mom.” I say it coldly. “I counted.”

“Twenty-six?” Her voice is faint. “I don’t believe it. You could have told me. You should have told me.”

I let my foot bounce off the wall. “Why? You don’t believe it now. And, you know—Danny could have told on himself, back then, if we were
playing like puppies
and his hand slipped. He
could have told me—
Sorry
. He could have told you—
I got too close with Angelyn.
”

Mom is quiet.

“Mr. Rossi called me a cat,” I say. “Because of how I wrapped up against him. He didn’t use it to work me. He told me—” I stop. “He told me,
Go away.
”

Mom stands and walks to the mirror. “You look like me. I’ve always heard that.”

Dark hair, dark eyes. Tall. Long-legged.

“I guess I do.”

She slumps onto the bed. “How did we get here?”

“How?” I stand. “You put it all on me. Every bad thing. What do you want me to say, Mom?”

“I didn’t know about any of this,” she says.

“You acted like you did. You’d tell anyone there’s something wrong with me. You said it to Miss Bass and Mr. Rossi—” I’m mad again, remembering. “Mr. Rossi was saying something true about me—right?—and you didn’t like it.”

Mom raises her head. “I was trying to protect you.”

“What?”

“Our—” Mom waves. “Our situation. I was trying to protect that. How do you think it makes
me
look if this is going on and I’m letting it? I work there, Angelyn. I have to keep working there.”

I sit. “I go to school there.”

She pushes her hair back. “You’ve got a million chances. I’ve only got the one.”

“But—” I think about that. “I’m your daughter, Mom. You’ve only got the one.”

“Come here,” she says after silence.

“Why?” I ask, but I do, sitting across from her.

“How serious are you, Angelyn, about all this?”

I look at Mom. “Serious?”

“It won’t be easy,” she says. “It will be ugly.”

I know what I want. “I want him out.”

Mom reaches for the phone.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” I say, pulling back.

She pushes numbers. They build to ours.

Danny picks up first ring.

“Sherry?” He’s breathless.

Mom says, “Be gone when we get back.”

Before sunrise I’m at the window, watching traffic.

Mom stirs. “Did you sleep?”

“Not much,” I say, shy with her.

She checks the time. “We need to start back.”

“Now? It’s too early.” And: “I don’t want to see him.”

Mom is up and stretching. “You’ll be at school. I’ll be at work. Danny has the whole damn day to leave.”

I sit against the ledge. “It was real last night. You were serious.”

“You bet I was.” She’s fierce.

“Mom.” I can’t think what else to say.

She’s on her way to the bathroom. “Angelyn, we are moving on.”

Mom calls me. Soft, then louder.

I blink awake. “We’re here?”

“Almost,” she says. “Listen about today.”

I uncurl, feeling fuzzy. We’re in town, passing Courthouse Park.

“After school you’re going to walk to the bus yard and wait with me.”

I tell her okay.

“I’ll make sure that Danny’s gone.”

“Just like that,” I say.

“Don’t doubt it,” Mom says.

“You’re making it sound easy. You said it would be hard.”

“Getting him out is not hard. It’s what comes
after
that will be.”

“What’s that?” I ask, watching her.

“We’re reporting him,” Mom says.

I sit up. “To the police?”

“Yes. We’ll go this afternoon. After school.”

“Mom—it’s enough for me if Danny isn’t around.”

“It’s not enough for me. He did wrong. He’s going to pay.”

I sputter. “That means
I
pay. I’d have to get in there—”

She’s nodding. “Yes, you’ll be involved. Of course you’ll be involved.”

“I don’t want to talk to the cops!”

“Angelyn, you are done protecting him.”

My stomach twists. “It wasn’t only me who protected him.”

“What’s that?” Mom says. A real warning.

“Why this, why now?” I ask. Quietly.

“You just be ready,” she says. “This afternoon. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be done.”

I turn my head.

“Do you hear me?”

I nod, once.

Then: “Have you forgotten,” I say, “that three years ago we told these same police that nothing happened between Danny and me? That nothing ever
could
happen? They will laugh at me—or worse.”

Mom says, “I didn’t know then. I do now. I’m on it.”

My mouth puckers.

“Angelyn, you stop right there.”

“Mom, I didn’t say anything. But, yeah, I’ll shut up. I’m good at that.”

“Next we’ll work on that attitude.” She’s icy.

I tug at my seat belt. “You can let me off ahead.”

Everyone is in place at Ag. Mom pulls smoothly to the side.

“Which one is your boyfriend? I haven’t forgotten that.”

“No one,” I say, wrestling the backpack out of the cab.

“It’s the tall boy, isn’t it? The one who’s always watching.”

I swing around carefully. She means Steve.

“He’s just a guy.”

“You never told me about him,” Mom says.

I pop the door. “Okay. Bye.”

“Introduce me to your boyfriend.”

I look around. “Mom, no.”

“Oh yes,” she says. “If he’s in your life, then I am going to know him.”

I stumble from the truck, dragging the pack, hoping she’ll stay inside.

A door opens behind me.

“Mom,” I say, clenched teeth, keeping on along the roadside.

She passes me, striding.

“I’m Angelyn’s mother,” Mom says, stopping at Steve on the sidewalk.

His expression doesn’t change. His
no-expression
.

She sticks her hand at him. “I’m Sherry Stark.”

His eyes flick from her to me.

“Hey,” he says. No color to it.

Her hand floats in the air between them.

Behind Steve, Charity grins. The other kids watch too.

My face is hot. I stand there with the backpack.

Mom stomps past on her way back. Seconds later the truck goes by.

Steve steps off the sidewalk.

“You don’t like my mom,” I say, walking up.

He shrugs.

“Wait, are you pissed at me too?”

“I’m not thrilled,” Steve says.

I lean away from him. “Why?”

“You never came back on Monday when you went off with that girl.”

“Oh.” Monday is forever ago. “Well, lunch was almost over.”

Steve says, “Okay, and what about yesterday?”

I look at him blankly.

“The reservoir, Angelyn. You said you’d go. I waited for you—again.”

The reservoir
. “I was out of town. Mom took me to Sacramento.”

He dips his chin. “Bet that broke your heart.”

Charity laughs.

I focus on Steve. “I had a shit time. Does that make it better?”

“Nope. You have got to stop flaking on me.”

It’s one thing too many. My eyes fill. I can’t help it.

I shoulder the pack. “See you.”

He catches a strap. “Wait.”

We face each other.

Steve points to the backpack. “Your mom took you for that, right?”

I nod. “Got the backpack. Yay.”

He squints. “What else happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“To make it a shit time.”

Damn
.

“Angelyn, hey.”

I wipe my eyes. “Don’t ask me that.”

“I’m asking. This whole thing is too weird, and me not knowing.”

“
Weird
is a good word for it,” I say.

“Tell me what’s going on and maybe we can get somewhere.”

“Where do you want us to be?” I ask.

“I want us to be like we were,” Steve says slowly.

I shake my head. “No.”

He takes a step in. “Ange.” Charity adjusts, peeking around.

I flip a hand at her, and the rest. “
They’re
always here. Can’t they all go someplace else?”

Steve looks. “Oh, them.
Shoo.
” He waves his arms. “
Git!”

Most of the kids pretend to be doing something else. Charity pouts.

I fight a smile. “I can still see them.”

He walks in tight. “How about now?”

I see his chest, his collarbone, his shoulders. Him.

“Steve. This is not what I want.”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “This is me blocking your view. That’s all I’m doing.”

I look up. “Why can’t you be an ass
all
the time? So I’d know.”

A flicker of a grin. “Angelyn, stay. Anything else, we’ll figure it out.”

I blink at him. “Mostly, I’m tired. I only want to rest.”

Steve says, “Rest here.” Very quiet. “I miss you when you’re not around.”

I stand with him outside their eyes.

“You missed yesterday,” Mr. Rossi says when I come into World Cultures.

I barely look at him. “I’ll get a note.”

The girls are at their desks. They stop talking as I come down the aisle.

Jacey lowers her eyes. Charity watches with bright curiosity.

“Hi,” I say deliberately.

Charity purses her lips. “Angelyn, are you
okay
?”

I slam in—“Just great!”—and drop my backpack at my feet.

“That was
so sad
,” she says, “outside, when you were crying.”

“I was not crying.”
Shut up, Angelyn! Shut up
.

Charity’s desk creaks. “Steve told us you were never coming back.”

It takes the breath out of me, him talking.

Jacey looks over. “That was all he said, Angelyn.”

I nod to her, stiffly.

The bell rings. Mr. Rossi stands and calls for the homework.

I unzip the backpack and dig out my text. Thumbing through, I find last week’s homework. Thursday’s work. I don’t have Friday’s work, or Monday’s, or yesterday’s. Three zeroes. No, four. Mr. Rossi doesn’t take late work.

I suck.

No one is passing work forward. People are switching seats.

I look at Jacey. “What’s going on?”

She picks at her book cover. “That report thing.”

Shit
. “The report’s due now?”

“Part of it, I think. He said yesterday.”

“Angelyn!” Charity says. “Did you get the notes from that girl?”

Jeni’s notes
. I remember getting them. “Yeah,” I say shortly.

The noise around us rises. Even the back-row boys look busy.

Mr. Rossi says my name.

“What?” I say, not too friendly.

“Your partner isn’t here.”

“No,” I say. “She won’t be.”

“That makes you group leader. And spokesman for your project.”

I shrug, feeling slightly sick.

“You up for it?” he asks.

“Oh, always,” I say. The girls snicker.

His face pinks. “Moving on. Dylan, start us off. Your group had India.”

The Dylan kid stands, rattling off statistics like he’s been programmed. I dip into my backpack, pushing books aside, flipping through papers, searching for Jeni’s small and neat printing.

Charity’s desk scrapes mine. “You’re going to use the notes, aren’t you?”

I slide forward. “Don’t talk to me.”

Dylan finishes. Mr. Rossi marks something on a clipboard.

“Who’s next?” He scans the class. “Angelyn. Are you ready?”

“I was absent.”

“Yes, but you’ve had time to come up with something.”

“Jeni did. I mean,
we
did, together, but—”

“What I need to know is where you’re at.”

“Jeni’s gone.” My voice rasps.

“So, what do
you
have?” Mr. Rossi says.

Charity whispers, “Use the notes!”